Rain machine

• Sean Mccawley, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2004

Sitting down and listening to the rain pour out of the machine gun sky.
Don’t know why, but its getting cold though we are inside.
Throwing and catching paper planes,
One flies out over window pane.
Taken down by the bullets from the sky,
Never to be seen again.

We’re taking it easy, simplistic, lazy, rainy days.
We’ve got no dissatisfaction, no need to be reactive, no troubles no more,
Just the same as before.

TV screen glimpses of a nameless land so far away.
Seeing horrific images to which we can’t relate.
Cold hard faces, holding the killing steel in hand.
No consideration for your fellow man.

It’s never been easy; the look of the rain has changed from now on.
To see this repression and to see the reaction. What a difference there is,
Not the same anymore.